<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What If I Want To? by Spiderlily_Writes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302050">What If I Want To?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes'>Spiderlily_Writes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But They're Both Into It, Claiming Bites, Creampie, F/F, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Public Sex, this is the filthiest thing i've ever written, undernegotiated sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:33:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingrid is in heat, though she's loath to admit it. Mercedes is in rut. They both give in to their urges.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What If I Want To?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi all! Thanks so much to <a href="https://twitter.com/FEOmegirlverse">Omegirlverse</a> for showing some love to the ladies. Today, for you, I have some nasty, dirty Merciegrid. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hard, dull thump of wood on wood echoes through the training grounds as Ingrid goes through her lance drills. She’s clearly practiced the routine about a million times, and she looks like she barely even thinks about it. Mercedes, in fact, is quite certain that she could walk up behind Ingrid and tap her on the shoulder without Ingrid noticing at all. And so, she does not feel the least bit guilty for staring.</p>
<p>No, Mercedes has not come to the training grounds to train. Nor has she come to study. She has come for one purpose, and one alone, and that is to fawn over Ingrid Brandl Galatea.</p>
<p>It’s not like admiring Ingrid is new for Mercedes; she’s been doing so for years, though she isn’t entirely certain that Ingrid, precious though she is, has ever noticed. In a way, Ingrid’s obliviousness is freeing. Mercedes is free to fantasize about her friend, watch her, lavish her with attention, and needs never fear that Ingrid will spurn her. After all, they are merely friends, are they not?</p>
<p>Mercedes has to admit, though, that some days are harder than others, when it comes to keeping her hands to herself. For example, when she’s in rut. Or when Ingrid is in heat. Or, even more frustratingly, when those two time periods might happen to coincide, which doesn’t happen <em>often</em>, but does, on occasion, occur. Today is, unfortunately, one of those days.</p>
<p>Ingrid has always been one of those omegas who lives in a state of half-denial. Of course she’s in heat, she’ll admit, but it’s not <em>that</em> bad. She can still focus. She doesn’t let it get in the way of her day-to-day. She has <em>duties</em>, after all. And initially, Mercedes might have believed her.</p>
<p>However, now she knows better.</p>
<p>She can identify Ingrid’s heats without ever looking at her, without even being near enough to catch her scent—sandalwood and fresh hay, an utter delight. Because when Ingrid is in heat, she works through that nervous, aroused, skittish energy on the training grounds. In a sense, it’s probably bad for Mercedes to come out here today, since she <em>already</em> has a hard time keeping her hands off of Ingrid. But she can’t help it. Ingrid is positively intoxicating.</p>
<p>Mercedes can catch whiffs of her on the breeze, every once in a while, and Ingrid’s scent mixed with clean sweat is enough to make her feel more than a little warm, more than a little <em>hungry</em>. It’s a good thing she’s leaning forward, against the wall that divides the training grounds from the surrounding walkway, because her arousal is—like that of most alphas—rather obvious.</p>
<p>Ingrid’s arousal is, too, really. Mercedes has seen her train before, but when her heat is particularly intense, there’s a subtle difference in how she moves. Her motions are less fluid, more jerky. Still precise, but she hits <em>harder</em>, as though she might banish the fire burning inside her by doing so. She watches how Ingrid moves, how her body twists and snaps. She sees the sweat making Ingrid’s hair stick to her forehead, sees her grow less and less steady, more and more feral and ferocious and <em>frustrated</em>.</p>
<p>It’s nearly too much for her to take. She grips the stonework of the wall hard, so hard that if it were any less solid, it would be crumbling in her hands. Mercedes lets out a whine, squirming in place and closing her eyes as she gets another hint of Ingrid’s scent. This was such a bad idea. It was so, so bad. She should not have done this, should never have come here. She feels her own face begin to bead with sweat, though her only exertion is her insistent, desperate attempt to keep herself from rushing the field, ripping Ingrid’s clothes from her body, and burying her cock inside what must be such a warm, soft, aching, needy…</p>
<p>Her train of thought is interrupted by the clatter of wood hitting the ground, followed by another, softer thump. Mercedes’s eyes snap open and she sees Ingrid, collapsed in a heap on the ground. Oh goodness. The poor girl must have worked herself to exhaustion. As much as she knows it’s a bad idea to get any closer to Ingrid, though, she also can’t just leave her lying there. Hesitantly, Mercedes calls out to her.</p>
<p>“Ingrid?”</p>
<p>The only response is a faint, pained groan, and she feels her heart skip a beat. Ingrid must have hurt herself. She must have pulled a muscle, or fallen, or…or accidentally hit herself? Mercedes has no idea how lance fighting is done, but with such a huge, unwieldy stick being waved around, it’s surely possible, right?</p>
<p>So she takes a deep breath to steady herself, prays to the Goddess that Ingrid won’t look too closely at her front, and makes haste around the barrier and to where Ingrid lays.</p>
<p>As she approaches, she can see Ingrid’s chest rising and falling, which is good, and she’s moving her arms and legs slightly, so she doesn’t seem to be unconscious. There’s also not any blood, nor does she appear to be in pain, really, so Mercedes can’t help but wonder what caused her to fall.</p>
<p>“Mercedes?” Ingrid asks, sounding dazed, almost as though she’s been hit in the head. Is that, perhaps, what happened? “W-What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>She reaches Ingrid and kneels down beside her on the ground. “I was just watching you pr—”</p>
<p>The moment Mercedes begins to speak, she finds herself positively <em>overwhelmed</em> with Ingrid’s scent. It hits her like a runaway carriage with a nearly physical impact, and it’s never been this bad before. Never. Not once in her life. She can feel a throbbing between her legs, a primal biological imperative telling her that if she doesn’t breed, she’ll likely not be able to focus on anything else until she does.</p>
<p>And she needs to breed <em>Ingrid</em>. Needs to hold her down, fuck her, knot her, bite her, all of it. But with a tremendous bit of willpower, she shoves the thoughts aside, leaving them ripping at the edges of her mind like a wolf trying to get at a steak. When she speaks again, she sounds like she’s just come up for air from underwater.</p>
<p>“I was watching you practice, and you fell. I wanted to see if you were okay. Are you okay?” Mercedes puts a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, and Ingrid shudders. Her eyes are wide, her breath is coming short.</p>
<p>“Mercedes, you <em>really</em> shouldn’t be here. It’s…It’s bad, this time. It’s really bad,” Ingrid manages to groan out. “I just…I got dizzy for a second, I’ll be fine, but my heat is…”</p>
<p>She closes her eyes and swallows, trembling visibly, and Mercedes knows that Ingrid must be feeling the same as her. Maybe worse. It’s so hard, it’s so bad to watch her dear friend Ingrid struggling like this. Shouldn’t she help? She could, as an alpha. It would help them both. After one good knotting, Ingrid’s arousal would certainly fall below manageable levels. Mercedes could maybe even walk around without holding a book in front of her everywhere she goes. It would be so <em>easy</em>.</p>
<p>The wolf gnaws at her, claws at her, strains against her will. She can’t. She shouldn’t. Ingrid shivers again, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Mercedes, please, <em>please</em> go away. I’m glad you wanted to help, but you’re my friend, and I couldn’t…I can’t ask that of you. I’ll be fine, I can just…smell you too much right now.”</p>
<p>There’s a moment of silence. Then two. Both women struggle for a moment, and both find their efforts to be in vain. Mercedes’s wolf breaks free.</p>
<p>“What if…I want to, Ingrid?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I want to, so, so very badly?”</p>
<p>Ingrid looks up at her for a moment and her eyes are so big, so pleading, so needy, and in them, Mercedes can see Ingrid give up trying to maintain this façade, trying to pretend she doesn’t want it just as badly. Instead, she speaks one very simple word, with such meaning behind it.</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>That’s it. Mercedes can’t take it anymore. She reaches down and grabs Ingrid by the front of her shabby, loose workout shirt, feeling the flimsiness of the cloth in her hand. She could rip it off with her hands alone; it’s practically threadbare.</p>
<p>But instead, she hauls Ingrid up, making the other woman cry out in surprise, and captures her mouth with a kiss. She packs years of yearning, sleepless nights, desire, and need into that kiss, and by the way Ingrid writhes in her grasp, she knows the young knight feels it too. When they finally break apart for air, Ingrid lets out a whine, making it plain that she’s desperate for more, and Mercedes can’t help but oblige.</p>
<p>She reaches down to the waist of Ingrid’s trousers with both hands, hooks her fingers into the waistband, and yanks them down, leaving her partner completely exposed and <em>oh</em>, what a sight it is. She can see how wet Ingrid is, how slick she is. She can see fluid on the insides of Ingrid’s thighs, and though the younger woman squirms shamefully when Mercedes licks her lips in anticipation, she doesn’t make any attempt to stop her, nor move away.</p>
<p>“Ingrid,” Mercedes breathes. “Is this for me? Is this how I make you feel?”</p>
<p>“I…I don’t…” Ingrid stammers, face flushing an even deeper red. “Y-Yes, Mercedes, my heats are bad enough as they are, but when it’s you, I—”</p>
<p>“Shush.” Mercedes puts a finger to Ingrid’s lips. “Let me take care of you. Like you want me to. Like <em>we</em> want me to.”</p>
<p>Ingrid nods, closing her eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I trust you.”</p>
<p>She shouldn’t. Oh <em>Goddess</em>, she shouldn’t. Because while Mercedes is certainly glad to help, she’s not doing this for Ingrid. She’s doing it for her. She’s doing it because she doesn’t know if she’s going to be able to eat, sleep, or breathe another day unless she makes Ingrid hers. She needs Ingrid more than any of those other things, she’s certain of it.</p>
<p>Mercedes repositions herself between Ingrid’s legs, on her stomach, dipping her arms under them and holding Ingrid steady while she leans down, the scent there nearly unbearably powerful. She hears a gasp from above. “Mercedes, here? Really? It’s…I mean, anyone could come in.”</p>
<p>“Ingrid, I’m sorry, I can’t wait any more,” she says, and she really <em>is</em> sorry. But she’s not sorry enough to stop. It’ll be fine, surely. She dips her head down, planting a kiss on Ingrid’s inner thigh, then sinking her teeth into the slick, sensitive skin there.</p>
<p>Ingrid cries out in pain, reaching down to put a hand on Mercedes’s head, but she doesn’t pull her away. She probably can’t. Ingrid is so, so intelligent, ever logical, ever clever, but all of the intelligent and logical parts of her are currently forcibly silenced by the same biological imperative that holds Mercedes in its grip.</p>
<p>She laps up Ingrid’s juices with her tongue, kissing them away, cleaning her off, and she’s never tasted anything sweeter in her life. It’s all she imagined, all she <em>dreamed</em>, on those nights where she allowed herself to fantasize about taking Ingrid for herself. She’s greedy about it, making sure to bite down every once in a while because she loves the way Ingrid squirms when she does. She suspects Ingrid loves it, too.</p>
<p>Eventually, Mercedes makes her way up to Ingrid’s cunt, and she licks at that, too, drawing a low, exultant groan from her partner. It probably feels quite lovely, but she doesn’t intend to do it for long. She’s not going to eat Ingrid out. That would be very kind and selfless, true, but she can’t manage to shelve her own raging desire long enough to make that happen, so she gives a couple of slow, languorous licks as Ingrid bucks her hips beneath her.</p>
<p>“Mercedes, please,” she begs, and are those <em>tears</em> Mercedes can see on her cheeks? Oh, all the better. She’ll lick those away, too.</p>
<p>Mercedes acquiesces, though, changing her position once again and, this time, she hikes her skirts up to her waist. She’s not going to bother undressing either of them all the way. There might be time for that, later, but the mess that’s going to result from all this is the furthest thing from Mercedes’s mind.</p>
<p>She tugs her own smallclothes down and away, freeing her length, gasping as she feels the cool air against that most private part of herself. She’s never done something like this outside before. Of course, she hasn’t really done it <em>inside, </em>either, but the experience is still stranger than she expected it might be.</p>
<p>It’s hard not to bury herself to the base inside Ingrid immediately; she’s so aroused that it nearly <em>aches</em>. It takes every ounce of her rapidly fading composure to keep herself from doing so, but she forces herself to hold steady and she asks, one more time.</p>
<p>“Ingrid, you are certain want this? You’re sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mercedes, I want this. I’ve wanted it for a long time, so please just—”</p>
<p>Ingrid squeals as Mercedes acquiesces <em>immediately</em>, pumping her cock deep inside her with a low, throaty groan of her own. The statement of permission is all Mercedes needs to finally cut loose. It’s so shameful to lose control like this, true, but that’s a problem for the future. Right now, this is what she needs, and she’s going to have it.</p>
<p>“Mercedes, Goddess,” Ingrid groans, wrapping herself shamelessly around her lover, and Mercedes waits for a few moments before she moves again. She takes some time just to savor the way Ingrid feels around her, because it’s just as wonderful as she thought it would be. The sensation, the aroma of her, the way she shivers as Ingrid drags her nails across Mercedes’s still-clothed back, it all combines into an intoxicating, heady feeling that she doesn’t know if she could ever get enough of.</p>
<p>After letting Ingrid catch her breath—and catching her own, really—Mercedes begins to move. She pulls out slightly, moaning softly at the stimulation. It’s good, <em>so</em> good, and she’s not sure how long she’s going to last. But she’s going to enjoy every moment of this, she knows that much for certain.</p>
<p>Ingrid—wonderful, lovely, powerful Ingrid—clings to her and whines so cutely, so sweetly. She can’t help but feel privileged to get to see Ingrid like this, trying so desperately to hold on as Mercedes fucks her right there on the ground.</p>
<p>“Please Mercie, keep going,” Ingrid begs, and Mercedes thinks her heart might just burst. A rush of possessive ferocity blows through her; her omega has a need, and she’s <em>going</em> to fill it. So she pumps in and out, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as soon as she knows Ingrid can take it. It’s not long before the only sounds in the training grounds are those of their bodies meeting, their hearts beating, and their desperate, frenzied cries as they both try to quench a fire that’s been burning unchecked for years.</p>
<p>Mercedes leans in close, putting her mouth right next to Ingrid’s ear, close enough that she knows Ingrid can feel her breath hot on her skin, and coos to her, so sweetly, almost saccharine. “Ingrid, I’m going to bite you. I’m going to mark you. Do you want that?” she asks, not letting up on her frenetic rhythm even a little bit. “Do you want to be mine, Ingrid?”</p>
<p>Ingrid nods, quickly, furiously, but that’s not good enough. Mercedes speaks again. “Say it, Ingrid. I want to hear you say the words. Tell me you want to be mine. Oh, Ingrid, I want you so, so badly.”</p>
<p>There’s not a single moment of hesitation; either Ingrid wants this just as badly as Mercedes does, or she’s too dazed from Mercedes fucking her to understand what she’s agreeing to. Mercedes hopes it’s the former, or there’s going to be some awkward discussions later.</p>
<p>“Y—Yes, Mercie, it’s okay, you can bite me. I…I want you to,” Ingrid manages to gasp out, and if Mercedes didn’t know better, she’d think the knight was in pain. But she knows Ingrid, she knows how she sounds when she’s in pain, and this isn’t it. This is something else entirely.</p>
<p>But Mercedes does not need to be told twice. With a growl that’s more feral than she knew she could produce, and without ever slowing down the pace of her thrusts into Ingrid’s wonderful, needy cunt, she sinks her teeth into the skin of Ingrid’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Ingrid lets out a small, pained, hiccup of a cry, and Mercedes smiles against her, in satisfaction, relief, and ecstasy. Ingrid Brandl Galatea is <em>hers</em>. She’s not going to spend one more day admiring her from afar. She’s not going to spend one more single night wishing and dreaming. Ingrid is hers, and she <em>wants</em> to be hers, and that makes Mercedes’s heart swell. Good. As it should be.</p>
<p>“Good girl, Ingrid, what a good girl you are,” Mercedes hums into her skin, pressing a soft, loving kiss to the same spot she just bit into. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so happy.”</p>
<p>She can feel Ingrid beginning to tense around her, all her muscles contracting ever so slightly, and Mercedes knows she’s going to come. Good. She wants to feel Ingrid lose control. She wants to be there, be the stable foundation that Ingrid can cling to as she comes undone. Truly, the Goddess has blessed her to give her such an opportunity.</p>
<p>“Mercedes, I…I…” Ingrid cries, and yes, Mercedes can feel hot tears rolling down off of Ingrid’s cheeks. “I’m going to…”</p>
<p>“I want you to, Ingrid. Please? Would you come, for me?” Mercedes asks, so sweetly, but it’s not a question. It’s an order. And Ingrid has not been known to disobey orders.</p>
<p>So she obeys.</p>
<p>Ingrid locks up as she hits her climax, and she doesn’t scream, like Mercedes might have expected her to. She doesn’t cry out loud enough to draw attention; indeed, her orgasm is quieter than the rest of the noises she’s made. But it’s a tense quiet, like a bowstring being drawn as taut as possible without snapping. Mercedes can feel the quiet around them, Ingrid’s barely-there whines serving as a counterpoint to the rough, aggressive pounding of Mercedes’s hips, and her own low, breathy moans. And that’s enough to drive her over the edge as well.</p>
<p>Mercedes groans as she feels herself swell inside Ingrid. She knows she shouldn’t be knotting her. She knows it can’t possibly end well. But it feels too good, too <em>right</em>, not to. Ingrid can clearly feel it too, and despite still being in the throes of her own climax, she lets out a low, desperate little whimper. It’s so good, such a wonderful sound, and that only spurs Mercedes on. So she shoves herself all the way into <em>her</em> omega, peppering her neck with little bites and kisses, and feels the bliss wash over her like a tidal wave as she comes.</p>
<p>She pumps Ingrid full of her seed, without apology, without hesitation, and if anything, it feels like Ingrid is trying unsuccessfully to pull Mercedes even deeper. Mercedes lets her try, though, for the way that Ingrid tightens around her only makes it even more clear that she <em>needs</em> this. Pleasure pulses through Mercedes’s entire body, and she feels herself become just a little lightheaded at the intensity of it all, but she holds steady and stays where she is, not daring to move a single muscle. She doesn’t know if she could, really, even if she wants to.</p>
<p>They remain like that, locked together, Mercedes’s knot buried inside of Ingrid, while she empties herself into the other woman, and it’s a good long while before either of them can catch their breath enough to speak.</p>
<p>“Well then,” Mercedes remarks, trying to ignore the heat rising in her face as she pushes herself up to meet Ingrid’s half-aware blissed-out gaze. “I…suppose we were both keeping some secrets from each other.”</p>
<p>Ingrid closes her eyes, laughing weakly, squirming in a way that makes Mercedes wince. “Yeah. Maybe a little.”</p>
<p>“Did I hurt you too badly?” Mercedes looks at the bite mark on Ingrid’s shoulder. It’s very visible, though it isn’t bleeding. She supposes it’s a bit strange to fuss over that <em>now</em>, but she can’t really help worrying.</p>
<p>“Mm?” Ingrid hums. “No, I’m fine. It felt good. It <em>feels</em> good. Promise.”</p>
<p>They share a moment of easy silence, before Ingrid speaks again.</p>
<p>“Boy, I hope nobody else decides to go train for a while, otherwise this could get kind of awkward.”</p>
<p>Mercedes giggles nervously. Ingrid’s right, of course, but she doesn’t really sound all that worried, so Mercedes tries not to be, either. Instead, she snuggles into the crook of Ingrid’s neck, sighing happily. “Ingrid?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Next time, could you please try to fall somewhere more comfortable?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked it!! Thank you very much for reading, and thanks to my fabulous editor <a href="https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells">tansybells</a>. If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me <a href="https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite">@spiderlilywrite</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>